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N Britain's Isle, no matter where,
An ancient pile of building stands : The Huntingdons and Hattons there
Employ'd the pow'r of Fairy hands.
To raise the cieling's fretted height, Each pannel in achievements cloathing,
Rich windows that exclude the light, And passages, that lead to nothing.
Full oft within the spacious walls, When he had fifty winters o'er him,
My grave * Lord Keeper led the Brawls : The Seal, and Maces, danc'd before him.
His bushy beard, and shoe-strings green, His high-crown'd hat, and fattin doublet,
Mov'd the stout heart of England's Queen, Tho' Pope and Spaniard could not trouble it.
What, in the very first beginning! Shame of the verlifying tribe!
Your Hist'ry whither are you spinning ? Can you do nothing but describe ?
Hatton, preferred by Queen Elizabeth for his graceful person and fine dancing.
A House there is (and that's enough)
From whence one fatal morning issues
A brace of Warriors, not in buff,
But rustling in their filks and tissues.
The first came cap-à-pié from France,
Her conqu'ting destiny fulfilling,
Whom meaner Beauties eye askance,
And vainly ape her art of killing.
The other Amazon kind Heaven
Had arm'd with spirit, wit, and satire :
But Cobham had the polish given,
And tip'd her arrows with good-nature.
To celebrate her eyes, her air
Coarse panegyricks would but teaze her,
Melissa is her Nomme de Guerre.
Alas, who would not wish to please her!
With bonnet blue and capuchine,
And aprons long, they hid their armour,
And veil'd their weapons bright and keen,
In pity to the country farmer.
Fame, in the shape of Mr. P-t,
(By this time all the Parish know it),
Had told, that thereabouts there lurk'd A wicked Imp they call a Poet,
Who prowl'd the country far and near, Bewitch'd the children of the peasants,
Dry'd up the cows, and lam'd the deer,
And fuck'd the eggs, and kill'd the pheasants.
My Lady heard their joint petition,
Swore by her coronet and ermine,
She'd issue out her high commission
To rid the manour of such vermin,
The Heroines undertook the task,
Thro' lanes unknown, o'er ftiles they ventur'd,
Rapp'd at the door, nor stay'd to ask, But bounce into the parlour enter'd.